


archipelago

by subwaycars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: ouat_exchange, F/F, F/M, Gen, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Jossed, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:05:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subwaycars/pseuds/subwaycars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Granny’s looks like a holiday oasis, or at least the place where Christmas decorations go to die.</em> Or the one where Emma, Snow, Aurora, Mulan and Lancelot end up back in Storybrooke on Christmas and there is a party and hot cocoa and tequila. Emma-centric, gen, ensemble fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	archipelago

**Author's Note:**

> This was planned/written before 2.07, so it's definitely been Jossed.
> 
> Pairings: Background Snow/Charming, Ruby/Lancelot, Mulan/Aurora, and Regina/Emma pre-slash.
> 
> Thanks to glovered for the beta.

There are a good five seconds of blackness and an upsetting swirling sensation when they jump through the portal, which is just enough time for Emma to very distinctively think, “Wow, this sucks.” She can safely say she hadn’t expected a magical portal between Fairytale Land and Maine to resemble what she had always imagined a Pork Key to feel like.  
  
She’s got about three seconds to take in how David and Henry and Regina and Archie are all huddled around them when they land, before she’s turning around and puking all over the floor.  
  
And that is how she starts Christmas.  
  
Sadly, she can’t even say it’s the worst start she’s ever had to the day (and starting it with vomit isn’t even all that unusual, although it at least usually meant alcohol had been consumed.  
  
It’s slightly gratifying to see Mulan and Lancelot hunched over out of the corner of her eye, at least.  
  
Then Henry is launching, literally _launching,_ himself at her like he’s some tiny, human-shaped projectile, and the next thing she knows, she’s stumbling and nearly landing in her own vomit with her arms full of 11-year-old kid. Then David and Mary Margaret are detaching themselves from each other’s lips to swoop in and hug them and suddenly it’s a group hug. She is in a big, suffocating group hug. Emma stands there, probably stiffer that she should be but there is so much hugging and joy going on, and maybe some tears, and it’s really very alarming. She doesn’t really know what to do with any of it, not that any of the other three seem to notice.  
  
She glances over at their tagalongs, but Mulan, Aurora and Lancelot look as lost as she feels. No help there. Meanwhile, Archie is just smiling fondly at them from over David’s shoulder, so he’s no help either. Regina scoffs when she meets Emma’s eyes, which is a grounding dose of normalcy. Emma doesn’t blame her. She’s watching Henry carefully and that, strangely enough, is what makes Emma give up, close her eyes and relax into the hug.  
  
They break apart a good minute later. Emma very carefully does not wipe the tears off the front of her jacket, because that would be rude, and trails after them as they make their way, _finally,_ to Regina and Archie. Henry clings to her the entire time, which isn’t quite as bad as she would have thought.  
  
“I knew you’d come back, I just knew it,” he says, grinning up at her like’s preformed the most amazing magic trick.  
  
“Of course I was coming back, kid,” she says and ruffles his hair, lets herself be pulled along.  
  
Archie hugs her first, quickly, which isn’t all that bad either.  
  
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Swan,” he says and lets her move on with a small, knowing smile. Mary Margaret starts introducing Mulan, Aurora and Lancelot to Archie and David and Emma directs her attention elsewhere.  
  
“Regina,” she says, nodding. Regina ignores her to crouch down and brush Henry’s hair back into some semblance of order. Henry fidgets. It’s stupidly endearing, and finally it hits Emma, how utterly glad she is to be back, in the closest thing she’s had to home in a while.  
  
She laughs, only a little hysterically. It definitely gets Regina to look at her.  
  
“Thank you,” Emma says, “for helping us get back.”  
  
They’d still be stuck on the other side without Regina and Archie. They were the ones who’d made sense of Henry’s dreams, the ones who found a way to open a portal. Regina was the one who actually opened the portal. She didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to help, and Emma is so profoundly grateful for her, still crouched down next to Henry.  
  
Regina tips her head in acknowledgment and smirks a bit at Emma, but it looks like a nicer sort of smirk than she’s used to getting and she can’t muster up the energy to be annoyed.  
  
“Yes, Regina, thank you so much, truly,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma startles. She hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped talking to Archie.  
  
Regina rises to her feet smoothly, and Emma can actually see her expression cool into one of barely-polite distaste. It’s fascinating.  
  
“Of course. I’d do anything for my son,” she says, and a little voice in one bit of the back of Emma’s head goes, “ooh burn,” while another bit wants to maybe bang her head against a wall.  
  
David cuts in before it can get any more awkward, grandly proclaiming, “This calls for a celebration!”  
  
There’s a bit of arm waving and everything, his chest puffed out just a tad. Emma isn’t sure if she wants to laugh at the absurdity of her life or cry.  
  
Mary Margaret says, “Oh, we must,” at the same time Archie softly says, “That seems like a lovely idea.”  
  
“Yes!” Henry yells, fist pumping in the air, and proceeds to dance around them all, chanting about presents.  
  
Regina’s sneering and Archie is chuckling and Mary Margaret and David are holding each other close again and Emma remembers forcefully that somehow, those are her actual parents.  
  
She glances at Aurora and Mulan and Lancelot who for the most part have wisely hung back, watching them all warily. Now they look varying shades of dumbstruck and alarmed. Emma feels a certain sort of kinship with them in that moment.  
  
They’re still dressed up as fairytale characters. It’s ridiculous. And Henry’s still cheering.  
  
Regina is still sneering. David and Mary Margaret are still being disgustingly in love. Emma sighs.  
  
“C’mon, let’s get you guys new clothes,” she says finally, capturing Henry as he bounces past in his euphoria, and resigns herself to her fate.  
  
*~*  
  
To say that Emma is actively hiding from Mary Margaret is a stretch, but she’s willing to admit she would actually rather be back in City Hall puking again than going to any sort of party.  
  
Alternately, she’d be down for a bottle of tequila and bad Christmas films. Christmas films optional.  
  
Mary Margaret refuses to be swayed when Emma tries to convince her of the greatness of such plans. Emma wasn’t really expecting it to work anyway. She could do without Mary Margaret’s disappointed mother eyes though. It’s never not going to be so freaking weird to be pretty much the same age as her mother. It’s never not going to feel weird to even have an _actual_ mother and not just some pipedream she made up years ago rattling around in the back of her head.  
  
“C’mon, we’re going,” Mary Margaret says, and tugs Emma up from the bed. Emma does her best to be a dead weight. Mary Margaret is, annoyingly enough, much stronger than she looks. Emma knew that already, but still. _Still._  
  
They just got back from traipsing through forests and climbing beanstalks. Its cruelty to subject Emma to people right now, when all she’d really like is to maybe lie down.  
  
“I’d really rather not,” Emma protests, even if it’s useless. It’s the principle of the thing.  
  
“You have to come,” Mary Margaret says, “Henry is so excited.”  
  
Dick move. Emma is reluctantly impressed.  
  
“Besides,” Mary Margaret continues, entirely unruffled even though she’s still half-dragging Emma out of bed, “it will be out first Christmas together, all of us, you know, as a family.”  
  
She looks sad and happy at the same time, smile bright but eyes watery. Emma has no defenses against it. It makes her feel guilty and horrible and all sorts of terrible things but it doesn’t make her want to go any more than she did before. Twenty-eight is too old to have to learn to navigate holidays with actual _family._  
  
It’s all a bit terrifying.  
  
For a moment, Emma misses the bits in her life involving dragons and giants and ogres. That was infinitely less scary.  
  
She gets to her feet with a sign and follows Mary Margaret out to the living room anyway.  
  
She follows her out and is immediately glad she didn’t have to argue hard with Mary Margaret about what she’s wearing as well. Mary Margaret apparently knows when to choose her battles. Only Mulan, Aurora and Lancelot are there, David and Henry already off to help them finish decorating, but that’s enough. Watching Mulan shift awkwardly in her dress, tugging at the hem like that can actually stretch it out, makes her very happy she got away with only changing into a new, clean pair of jeans and a leather jacket. She doesn’t envy Mulan at all. Mulan, at least, seems a bit mollified by the fact that her dress is both long-sleeved and high-collared and despite the fact that it isn’t made of leather and doesn’t involve pants, doesn’t look entirely too dissimilar from her armor. She’s also managed to find a pair of combat boots from somewhere which don’t actually go with the dress at all, but it’s probably a much safer choice than trying to force her into a pair of heels. Emma knows Mulan would have probably end up using them as a weapon when she inevitably got sick of them all.  
  
Aurora, on the other hand, is wearing a downright dainty pair of cream heels and looks entirely happy with her dress, even if it is much, _much_ shorter than anything Emma’s used to seeing her in. She keeps swaying slightly, letting the lavender chiffon swish across her thighs and it’s got enough sparkle to make any princess happy. At least she ditched the freaking tiara.  
  
Emma heads to the door and waits for Mary Margaret to gather up her coat before she heads out, nodding to Lancelot when he holds it open for them all.  
  
He doesn’t seem entirely bothered by his new clothes either, maybe a bit confused by green jeans, but he’s got the sleeves of his oxford rolled up and look’s mostly at ease. Pants and a shirt can’t actually be all that hard to get used to, even if you’ve spent your life in armor. Men are lucky bastards that way.  
  
It’s not too cold outside yet, but it’s getting dark fast, the streets lit up like a cliché. Mary Margaret locks her door, slipping her keys into her bag. She, of course, looks the most season-appropriate of them all, her sweater dress a cream and glittery gold combo that suits her. It’s a strange blend of the girl she knew before and the new Mary Margaret who is also her mother and a Disney character. It’s good.  
  
All of it is good.  
  
It’s all very nice and lovely and Emma still really, really does not want to go to this party.  
  
It’s too late though. She’s already outside and everything. She groans.  
  
“Let’s get this over with then,” she says, and only allows herself to be a little jealous of the way Mulan lets Aurora tangle their hands together as they set off for the diner.  
  
*~*  
  
Granny’s looks like a holiday oasis, or at least the place where Christmas decorations go to die. The sheer magnitude of holiday spirit is horrifying. Garland tangled in fairy lights and strands of berries line the counters and every few feet there are bowls of pinecones that smell like cinnamon. Most of the tables have been taken away but each booth table has some sort of statue on it, of reindeer and Santa Claus or penguins and snowmen, and there are bits of tinsel strewn everywhere, glittering because of the fairy lights hanging from ceilings and blinding Emma every time she turns around.  
  
The highlight is the gigantic tree situated next to a fireplace Emma’s not sure she’s ever actually seen before. She’s not sure how they even managed to get the tree inside the diner, it‘s so huge. It’s covered in lights and mismatched and multicolored ornaments and candy canes and on closer inspection there are actual strings of popcorn wrapped around it. She didn’t think people actually did that in real life. The entire thing is so over the top and so terribly Storybrooke.  
  
Granny’s bustling about, dodging in between the crowds of people to pass out gingerbread men and sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes, dressed up like she’s Mrs. Claus. She’s got Leroy and the rest of his boys helping her out, all wearing Santa hats. Astrid and Mother Superior are nibbling on bits of peppermint bark on one side of the diner and Jefferson’s with his daughter on the end with a pilfered jar of chocolate covered pretzels they share with each other. Everyone’s drinking hot buttered rum or mulled wine or hot cocoa, laughing and singing along to the Christmas music playing on the radio, and Emma has never seen anything more terrifying in her life. And she totally faced down a dragon once.  
  
“C’mon,” Mary Margaret says, and tugs her into the crowd. There are so many people around that Emma can’t understand how anyone’s comfortable at all. Maybe they were all used to large parties and fancy balls but Emma had just spent the last few weeks in the woods. It’s all a bit much. Besides, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t actually know half the people there, even after living in Storybrooke for a decent amount of time. She’s not even sure how they managed to fit so many inside the diner. She’d call it magic, but that is quite possibly way too close to the truth for her to ever want to contemplate. That is her life now. It makes her nostalgic for the days she chased down criminals in tight dresses.  
  
There was infinitely less hugging in those days, for one thing.  
  
It seems like every three seconds someone is stopping them, to congratulate them on their safe return, arms warm and too tight. It’d be nice, almost, if it wasn’t so overwhelming. Emma would say it was safe to say that she’d never been touched so much in her life. And if it isn’t hugs from almost strangers it’s squeezes to her arm or friendly, manly pats on her back, and at one point, Emma’s pretty sure someone actually ruffled her hair. It’s just very disorienting and not anything she is used to and it’s pretty much a total relief when they finally find Ruby in the crowd.  
  
“Snow! Emma!” she cries, and immediately tugs Mary Margaret and her both into a hug, but Ruby’s always been one of the closest things to a friend she’s had here and there’s been no surprise relations between them, so it’s almost comfortable. She’s grinning bright and wide and so pleased, and it’s infectious. Emma can’t help but grin back.  
  
“God, it’s good to see you,” Ruby says, sweet and sincere, and then she laughs and hugs them both again.  
  
“Nice to be back,” Emma says and lets herself hug Ruby back.  
  
Ruby grabs a few mugs off a passing tray, says here, “Have a drink,” as she shoves them into Emma’s hands. She wobbles a little in her frankly ridiculously high heels, and grins happily at Emma when Emma reaches out to steady her.  
  
“You all have really outdone yourselves,” Emma says, gesturing with her mug to the explosion of holiday spirit they are right smack in the center off. Ruby laughs, opening her mouth to respond.  
  
From behind them, Lancelot suddenly says, “Red?” voice a mix of surprised and impressed. Emma doesn’t actually blame him. Ruby’s dress is scandalously short and ridiculously glittery and the sweater she’s wearing is oversized and falling off her shoulder. It’s all very red and very _Ruby_ , and a lot to take in. Especially if you apparently know each other from fairytale land.  
  
“You _know_ him?” Mary Margaret says, so at least Emma isn’t the only one surprised by this revelation.  
  
“Yeah,” Lancelot says and offers nothing else. He’s too busy grinning at Ruby. Again, Emma doesn’t blame him. Ruby is grinning back.  
  
Emma isn’t sure if she should find it cute, or disgustingly cute.  
  
“She was the woman?” David says. And again, Emma is officially lost, per usual.  
  
“Yeah, yeah she was,” Lancelot says without looking away from Ruby.  
  
“Ah,” Emma says because that clears up absolutely nothing. Mary Margaret raises a single eyebrow at them both over her cup of buttered rum, which Emma takes to mean she’s only marginally less confused.  
  
“Hi,” Ruby says, suddenly shy, and that’s definitely tipping the scale to disgustingly cute. Emma figures she should leave them to it.  
  
She takes one step back, Mulan and Aurora trailing after her like lost ducklings, probably eager to not have to continue to awkwardly stand about, David and Mary Margaret a bit more reluctant to leave. Ashley’s there with Sean when Emma turns around, and it’s another round of hugs, still not as bad as everyone else’s, but maybe more awkward than Ruby’s. She’s carrying Alexandria and Mary Margaret swoops in to coo over her.  
  
Everyone’s so understandably distracted by the baby that they don’t really notice the way Aurora has frozen in place.  
  
Not until she says, “Cinderella is that really you?” and tumbles into a hug that leaves Emma vaguely concerned for the baby. Apparently everyone really does know everyone in fairytales.  
  
“I can’t believe it,” Aurora says, still clutching at Ashley’s arms. Sean very carefully takes Alexandria.  
  
“Aurora,” Ashley says, and then laughs and tugs Aurora back into another hug, spinning the two of them around. Finally pulling away, she glances about, before saying, “Where’s Phillip?”  
  
Emma doesn’t hide her wince probably as well as she should.  
  
“Oh,” Ashley says, at the same time Aurora grabs Mulan’s wrist and hauls her forward.  
  
“This is my friend Mulan,” she says, a little desperately, but Emma’s not judging. Mulan tugs a bit at her dress again, looking like she hates absolutely everything in the world. Emma is once again reminded of how glad she is no one thought to make Mulan wear heels. This time it’s Mulan who twists their fingers together, grabbing Aurora’s hand as she says hello.  
  
 _Oh_ , Emma thinks. That’s how it is. She’s torn between amusement and the urge to vomit rainbows. She takes a sip of her cocoa.  
  
Unfortunately, it is distinctly lacking any sort of alcohol. She’s not sure how she managed to get the one non-alcoholic drink they’re serving, but she probably shouldn’t even be surprised at this point.  
  
She steps back, let’s Aurora and Ashley catch up. David and Mary Margaret are somewhere to her left, distracted by somebody they must know, even if Emma definitely doesn’t recognize them. Sean says something to Mulan Emma can’t quite hear and the two of them start in one what looks like spectacularly awkward small talk. Emma does catch Mulan smiling sweetly down at Alexandria before the crowd swallows the group of them up, which is a bit surprising. Emma didn’t know Mulan’s face could do that. She grabs a cookie off a passing tray, and decides to make a tactical retreat to the corners, where she can wander and hopefully avoid as many people as possible.  
  
She makes her rounds once and then twice and then a third time, taking it all in and munching down on cookies and sweets, avoiding elbows and flailing hands. She sees Henry once, squirming his way through the crowd, leading a pack of children with him and generally being in everyone’s way. She finishes off her hot cocoa and goes for another passing mug, of once again, decidedly non-alcoholic cocoa. Around her everyone is laughing and dancing and practically glittering. She catches sight of Lancelot and Ruby once, and Aurora and Mulan a few more times. David and Mary Margaret float in and out of her view, always talking or hugging someone.  
  
At one point, she even sees them kissing, trapped beneath mistletoe, both of them looking delighted as they pull away. It’s the same mistletoe Mulan and Aurora end up accidentally stumbling under a few minutes later. Mulan stops looking quite so uncomfortable and melts a little when Aurora, giggling, pulls her in and presses a kiss to her cheek, giving her that strange, sweet smile Emma’s still can’t believe Mulan is capable of.  
  
Emma makes a very large, very prominent mental note to avoid that bit of the room at cost and to be on the lookout for more lurking mistletoe because dear god, no.  
  
By her fourth lap around the diner, Emma looks for someone to talk to, someone like Archie, someone who she isn’t actually surprised related to and who she knows well enough to avoid making horrible small talk, and mostly someone who’s okay with letting her hide behind them for a bit.  
  
Instead, she gets Whale heading straight towards her, which is one very big way she does not want this night to go at all.  
  
She’s totally saved though, by a girl she’s absolutely positive she’s never seen before, all brown hair and sweet, blue dress.  
  
“I’m Belle,” she says, and takes Emma’s elbow to tug her well out of Whale’s path. When she lets go, she smiles pleasantly and holds out her hand. “I’m the new librarian.”  
  
Of course, Emma thinks, and takes her hand.  
  
“We haven’t met, have we?” she asks, just to make sure. “I’m Emma.”  
  
“I know,” Belle says. She sounds like an in real life Disney princess when she laughs, which, Emma realizes, is actually true. “And no, we haven’t, but I’m friends with Ruby and she talks about you and Snow all the time, so it feels a bit like I know you already.”  
  
“Ah,” Emma says.  
  
“I’ll let you get on with it then,” Belle says. “Just thought you might be in need of rescuing for a moment there.”  
  
“I definitely did. Thank you for that.”  
  
“My pleasure. It was lovely meeting you,” Belle says. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
“You, too,” Emma says as she disappears back into the crowd. She glances around again, but there really isn’t anyone around that she knows. Lancelot and Mulan and Aurora are all nearby but they’re busy, looking the most comfortable they’ve ever been since they arrived this morning, now that they’ve found people they know. She can’t see Mary Margaret at all.  
  
And then, suddenly, Henry is popping up right in front of her, grabbing at her arm to haul her through the crowd towards the Christmas tree.  
  
“C’mon, Emma, it’s time for presents!” he says, and Emma let herself be hauled along.  
  
She ends up in an overstuffed armchair, so close to the fireplace it’s uncomfortably warm, and Henry’s shredding through a pile of presents within seconds of her sitting down. Most people aren’t terribly interested, but they’ve still manage to accumulate a little group of onlookers.  
  
There are at least twenty presents piled on top of each other and wrapped in pretty paper underneath the tree. Most of the presents, Emma’s sure, are from Regina, but a few of them are definitely from David and there’s even one in there she knows is from Archie, and another from Ruby. Henry is delighted with every single one. He stares at each before yelling out an overjoyed thank you, followed by a crushing hug. It’s like something out of those stupid ABC Family holiday movies. It’s ridiculous.  
  
It takes Henry all of ten minutes to make it through his stack of presents, toys and books and sweaters and socks piled up haphazardly around him. There are still presents under the tree though, and Emma only realizes what they are once Henry starts pulling them out and shoving them at everyone. He’s giving _them_ presents.  
  
She’s stupidly shocked when Henry drops one into her lap, nearly knocking over her cocoa. It makes her feel even more terrible for not having anything to give him, though she obviously has a very good reason for her lack of presents. She thinks he must have had this one saved on the off chance her and Mary Margaret made it home.  
  
She doesn’t know what to do with that.  
  
When she looks up, it seems like just about everyone in the room is staring at her.  
  
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Henry says, waiting, fidgeting with too much energy.  
  
Emma can’t not open it now, so she does, pulling carefully at the mess of wrapping paper. It’s small, and it can’t really be something terribly expensive, but it’s the first present Emma’s gotten in a long, long time. It’s a strange feeling, unwrapping it.  
  
Inside, there’s a bracelet made of plain and worn leather, except for a bit in the middle that’s just a simple, smooth flat stone that glitters when the fire hits it like fairy dust.  
  
Emma picks it up carefully.  
  
“Thank you, Henry,” she says, and blinks back sudden tears Henry takes it from her, pulling out her arm so he can awkwardly fumble until he’s got it tied around her wrist. Emma stares at it for a moment, unsure what to say.  
  
“It’s really great. I love it,” she settles on, and Henry beams at her. He wraps her up in a hug.  
  
“I’d knew you’d like it,” he says, voice muffled by her hair.  
  
Then Mary Margaret and David are pulling her up out of her chair and hugging them again, another too warm group hug and Emma has no idea what to do with her hands. She’s grateful, when they break away, that Henry distracts the two of them enough for her to be able to slip away.  
  
She swipes a bottle of tequila from underneath the counter on her way out and only feels a little bad about it.  
  
Outside it’s pretty much freezing, and Emma takes a moment to be grateful for her mittens and the giant scarf Mary Margaret forced on her as they were leaving. The sky’s dark and it’s snowing gently and the outside of the diner really doesn’t provide all that much shelter from the elements. For a minute, she ponders going back inside where at least it’s warm but inside is loud and bright and crowded and the fresh air is nice. Instead, she unscrews the lid of the tequila bottle with her teeth and unceremoniously dumps some into her hot chocolate.  
  
From somewhere to her right, someone snorts and Emma just barely managed to not spill all of her drink when she jumps.  
  
Regina materializes out of the darkness, leather gloves on and collar of her coat turned up. Her scarf is hanging useless around her neck, which is ridiculous enough to make Emma roll her eyes. Regina’s holding her own mug of hot chocolate, so Emma offers her the tequila bottle, because why not.  
  
Regina just stares at it, so Emma says, “It’s not poisoned- just tequila.”  
  
After a beat, Regina takes it.  
  
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Emma says, watching her carefully tip the bottle into her drink. Regina’s been lurking in corners all night, hovering about in dangerous heels and pencil skirts and unbuttoned blouses and blazers- her whole businesswoman chic shtick- and looking as uncomfortable as Emma’s been feeling.  
  
“This is how Henry wanted to spend Christmas,” Regina says and if she was the sort of person, Emma thinks she might have shrugged. It’s not something’s she’s expecting to feel so often towards Regina, but today she’s incredibly grateful for her existence.  
  
“I know you’re his mother and all, but thank you. You know, for taking care of him,” she says, sipping carefully at her cocoa.  
  
“You don’t need to thank me for caring about my son, Ms. Swan,” Regina says, which is pretty much the reaction Emma was expecting.  
  
“No, I know, I’m just, I’m glad he’s had this, Christmas and holidays and all.” Se waves her hand about, trailing off, trying to encompass the entirety of the madness surrounding them. Regina doesn’t say anything. She looks half-offended, half-pleased, like she can’t quite figure out what the compliment is, but knows there’s one in there somewhere.  
  
Emma owes her. She owes her a lot. She hasn’t been around for most of the horrible shit Regina’s done over the years and Regina’s tried to kill her more than once, but without Regina they wouldn’t be back now, maybe would never have gotten back at all, and it’s nice to know that she cares about Henry more than anyone else. It makes her want to be a little nicer to her, makes her think maybe Regina needs someone to care about her.  
  
Emma glances over at her out of the corner of her eye, watches as fat, fluffy flakes of snow catch in Regina’s hair, on her eyelashes. Outside, the fairy lights shine even brighter, reflecting in Regina’s eyes like twinkling stars.  
  
It’d be magical if Emma hadn’t spent a lot of time recently getting up close and personal with magic.  
  
She takes another sip of her cocoa-flavored tequila, looking away.  
  
Her bracelet is itchy, just a bit, and tight on her skin. She tugs at it, letting it distract her from the quiet that’s fallen between them.  
  
“It suits you,” Regina says suddenly, and Emma almost jumps, is proud when she doesn’t. Regina’s nodding at her wrist, the bracelet, when Emma glances over at her. Emma frowns, unsure of what to say. She glances at Regina’s wrist, the watch she’s wearing looking shiny and new.  
  
“Did Henry give that to you?” she asks, nodding at it. She feels strangely guilty, even if she doesn’t have any reason to be. It’s a nice present, expensive. It’s something Regina would appreciate.  
  
It still seems like an obligatory gift, just a little bit, something obvious and not at all thoughtful like Emma’s bracelet. It makes her feel bad. She never meant to try to steal someone else’s son, even if he was her son too.  
  
“He did, yes,” Regina says, and doesn’t do anything awkward like fiddle with it. Regina’s never been like that, too much stature and class and elitism. After meeting Regina’s mother, it kind of makes sense.  
  
She tells her as much.  
  
“My mother? You met my mother?” Regina says, voice going sharp.  
  
“Yes,” Emma says slowly, voice rising up a bit at the end like a question. She takes another sip of what is now pretty much straight tequila and winces. Laughter bubbles up inside like a wave.  
  
In front of her, Regina looks worried and it’s strange, because Emma gets that Cora’s bad news, it’s kind of obvious, but she hasn’t found her way to Storybrooke yet- she will, Emma figures, because her life is actually a fairytale now, or a network fantasy drama, and clearly Cora is this season’s big bad- and Emma maybe hadn’t expected Regina to care. Not like this. Not so obviously.  
  
“I should go,” Regina says, probably already plotting things in her head, which really wasn’t Emma’s intention at all.  
  
So she says, “Stay, for a little while longer,” and adds, when Regina clearly starts to say no, “For Henry.”  
  
Because Emma is a _dick_. Like mother, like daughter apparently.  
  
It doesn’t work as well on Regina though. Instead, she laughs.  
  
“He wouldn’t notice,” Regina says, and her smile isn’t one Emma’s seen before, something sad and maybe a little bitter. Emma follows her gaze to back inside, where Mary Margaret and David are curled over Henry, doting on him like the child they never got to raise. Regina’s probably right, and something about that feels inexplicably sad.  
  
She glances over, but Regina’s no longer watching, instead adjusting the popped collar of her coat to cover just a bit more of her throat, and setting her mug onto a snowless bit of table.  
  
“Well,” she says, “Enjoy your cocoa, Ms. Swan.”  
  
“You know you could call me Emma, right?” Emma blurts out before Regina has a chance to disappear, mostly because it never stops feeling weird to have Regina call her Ms. Swan, but also maybe because she isn’t quite ready to be alone yet. It’s a feeling that surprises her a little, if she’s honest, but as claustrophobic and slightly terrifying as it was to be inside, surrounded by people, outside, here with Regina, it hasn’t been so bad. Not easy, exactly, but easier, because this, all this, Christmas and presents and _family_ , this isn’t something Emma does. This isn’t something she’s ever done.  
  
It’s overwhelming, is what it is, all the joy and love and holiday spirit in the air. She doesn’t know what to do with it. When she was a kid, she always kind of felt like an island, especially around the holidays, and Regina, Regina who looks as uncomfortable and out of place among the blatant affection as Emma feels, she reminds Emma of that. So it’s nice, just a little bit, having someone else around who isn’t full up on fairytales. It makes it all a little less terrifying, if she’s honest.  
  
Regina just smiles though, that way she does when she’s trying to figure something out. It’s a politician’s smile, or maybe a tactician’s. It’s slightly arrogant and infuriating and unfairly attractive.  
  
Emma shrugs, gives up with an eye roll and a huff of air.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Regina,” she finally says. Regina smirks.  
  
“Enjoy your cocoa then, _Emma_ ,” she says before melting into the falling snow, vanishing into the surrounding darkness almost like magic, or maybe exactly like it. Emma watches the place she disappeared go for a minute, before shaking her head and turning away.  
  
She glances back through the Diner window. Inside, Lancelot and Ruby are huddled up by the fire, whispering in each other’s ears and Aurora is huddled up with Mulan in a corner booth, waving her hands about, talking, as she watches everyone else, and Mulan just watches her. David and Mary Margaret and Henry are laughing, still curled up in front of the fire by the tree. They are all so warm and bright and happy. It’s the sweetest thing she’s ever seen and it’s the scariest.  
  
This is her life now.  
  
It’s strange and uncomfortable and more than a little terrifying. If she’s honest with herself, it’s a little nice too.  
  
She decides she’ll stay outside just a little bit longer, watching, and pulls her jacket closer around her. She enjoys the rest of her cocoa in the quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written last year for the ouat_exchange, for the prompt: Emma and Snow have returned to Storybrooke, bringing Aurora, Mulan, and Lancelot (if you like) with them. Cheesy holiday fic where everyone is happy.
> 
> Originally posted here: http://ouat-exchange.livejournal.com/18431.html


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